Just another WordPress.com site

Monthly Archives: July 2011

Well, tonight’s exciting adventure – I found a kitten hiding in my garden. I put out some food and water for him, but he wouldn’t come out. At first I thought I’d leave him there for a bit, but he’s not super bright – he doesn’t seem to realize that hiding involves a) not being seen and b) not being heard. He’s got a pretty big sad, and was mewing up a storm.

We live right on the edge of Jackson Park, which is huge and has coyotes. I often hear them at night. A kitten would be a pretty tasty treat.

So, Elliot finallly got him. He’s staying in my spare room at the moment, with a really cute little homemade litter box, and some food and water and cuddly old towels. We can’t keep him, our cats are too old and cranky, and a new kitten would not last too long, I think. Plus, our shots aren’t up to date.

He’s super cute (though he may be a girl, we’re not sure). He’s black and white. So, if you want a kitten, give me a buzz! If we can’t place him, we’re going to take him out to the Lakefield Animal Welfare Society, which is a no-kill shelter, probably on Saturday. We’re just calling him Mr. X for now, because we don’t want to get attached to him.

Whoops. Too late…

Somebody nice PLEEEEEEEEEEEZ take this kitten!

Advertisements

Share this:

Like this:

I went to Roller Derby last night. I went by myself, no one else who wanted to go was available. I could have stayed home alone, but I chose to go instead. And you know what? It was fantastic. I yelled and screamed and clapped and had a great time along with everyone else there.

I think I conditioned myself at some point to think that I need a “date” for everything. Apparently, I don’t. I brought ME. We had a great time.

What a super sport for women! It’s not watered-down or “girlified”. It’s tough and fast, with an awesome sense of humour. If I was 20 years younger and didn’t have arthritis in my hips and knees, I’d go for it. I really like that there’s all sizes and shapes of women on these teams, and they all rock it. I need a roller derby name – Polly Sporin? There was a Lana Cane on the Barrie team. I also like “Zombabe”, “Kim Kar-Smash-Ian”, “Wall of Confusion”, “Kimminent Danger” – oh, lots of them. It was a super time. Now I want to see “Whip It”.

Most of these women weren’t even born when Roller Derby went around the first time! Skinny Minnie WHO? Miller, that’s who, and she’ll kick your ass.

Share this:

Like this:

You know who doesn’t get enough credit around here? The cats, that’s who.

I have two, Grace and Martha, although they go by many, many other names as well. Grace, Gracie, Greg, The Amazing Grace, G-Dog, Gigi, Gracer, Speed Gracer, Grakus…Martha, Muffin, Muff, Muffy, Muppet, Marph, Imperator. The cool things about cats is that really, you can call them whatever you want, because they don’t come when you call anyway. Bahdump BUMP.

They’re barn cats from Marmora. We’ve never been sure if they are sisters, or half-sisters and first cousins. There was two litters born at the same time, to sisters, and one male cat around. Anyway you slice it, they’re related somehow, like a lot of folks out that way.

Grace is…unique. Affectionate to the point of being annoying, Grace will lick your face right off your skull. She’s not fond of baseball hats, and will knock that hat off your silly head, Mister. She’s the softest thing ever, and is very empathetic. Grace knows who needs extra love. Grace is the one who runs up to your room in the middle of the night when you have a bad dream. Grace follows you around like a little dog. She’s loyal and squawky and hungry and cuddly. She’s not really fat, she’s fluffy. That’s her story and she’s sticking with it. She has a sassy, loveable little attitude and a heart a mile wide. She’s the Dolly Parton of cats.

Muff is a beautiful calico, and is well aware of it. She mumbles to herself. She never really “meows”, per se, but is constantly giving her opinion on – what? We don’t know. She has double-jointed hips and assumes really odd positions at times. She’s not as cuddly as Grace, more the Dorothy Parker than the Dolly Parton type. She likes to be in the same room as us, but not on our laps, just close by. Her favourite game is Let’s Knock All the Shit Off the Bookshelf at 3 A.M., and then talk about what’s just happened.

They are both very fond of everyone except each other. For some reason, they just don’t get along. They’re getting on, now – we figure they’re 15 or 16 now, but they’re in good health and still occasionally have little crazy-attacks, tilting at windmills and chasing imaginary prey. They have really been the best of cats. They helped raise my kids, and sometimes, really, no one else will listen.

Share this:

Like this:

Had a few beers with Sharon last night, and as usual, the subject turned to “Boys – What the Hell is Wrong With Them?” We didn’t come to any definite conclusions, but in retrospect, I’m not sure y’all are as bad as all THAT. I just don’t meet nice boys in my line of work, that’s all. And, I’ve reached the age where the good ones have all been snapped up.

How do I feel about being single? Well. I’m dividing my life up into chunks, I think. The first long relationship was for family and children. The second for romance and physical love. I don’t know what the next phase is. I figure that, judging from the length of the last two, I’ve got time for two or three more before I die, God willing. I’d like it if it were just one really long one that satisfied all my needs.

But the thing is, each of my previous relationships DID satisfy my needs – at the time.

I think I could quite happily be single for a long time, honestly. I certainly have enough to keep me busy, goodness knows, between work, kids, hobbies, housework and the gym. I’m at best when left to putter, I am a champion putterer. I have friends for companionship and chit-chat. I’ve gone off *you know* a bit since my surgery, so I’m not even really missing that so much. I’m pretty curmudgeonly, and I like things the way I like them. It would have to be someone pretty damned special to change that. It just seems that there’s huge pressure to be part of a couple, and it’s what we’re supposed to want. I’m not so sure I do want it. Is that weird? Maybe. I wanted it once, desperately. Now – not so much.

I know I’d rather be by myself than with someone who isn’t right for me. I looked around a dating site, and – not for me. Baseball hats, hockey fans, huntin’ and fishin’, camping, cars – nope. And the headings “Looking for an honest woman”, “been burnt before”, “anyone real out there” – they’re just – SAD-making. I’m not looking for someone sad. I’d rather be happy all by myself.

This post might not be here long. I feel like it’s a little bit TMI, but I haven’t posted for a long time, and this is what was on my mind.

Share this:

Like this:

So, holidays are over, back to work. As usual, the night before going back to work, I slept almost not-at-all. I don’t understand this, as it’s not all that stressful, but I can pretty much count on being up all night. It’s weird. The oppressive heat isn’t much use, either.

I did a lot of knitting on the holidays, finished lots of projects that have been sitting for too long, and completed a couple of new ones. All except my old arch-nemesis, the Red Sweater. Distantly related to the Red Baron, the Red Sweater has been on the needles for, oh, maybe five years now. I’m bored to tears with it, and not happy with it at all. But it’s so nearly done, I hate to take it apart. On the other hand, I will NEVER be happy with it the way it is. I need to bite the bullet on this one, I think, and declare it a failed project. It’s very nice yarn, I’m sure I can find something better to do with it.

Very happy to have Hugo the Monster on his way to young Carter in Toronto. It was lovely to meet him (Carter, that is, not Hugo) and I know he’s the kind of guy who will enjoy a monster.

I also have finally cast on “Saroyan”, after being super-intimidated by it because it has a lace border. Well, it’s not that hard, and is coming along nicely. I don’t know why I’m so scared of lace, it’s just Following Directions like everything else. Anyway, I tried a couple of different yarns that I wasn’t happy with, and finally settled on a very muted dark violet/fuschia plied handspun, and it’s quite pleasing. If it turns out well, I may make another for Leesa out of the Red Baron. I think she’d like it. She reads this blog, so I guess I’ll know soon enough.

Not so pleasing was the sockweight shawlette with the feather and fan border, designed to use three skeins of handspun in mulberry, mauve and hot pink. It came out looking a bit like an old-lady afghan, and yet…there’s something appealing about it, in an old-fashioned kind of way.

Also on the holiday front, I visited Tim and Cathy and the kids for a couple of days, which was lovely as always. It’s always a pleasure to visit, I always feel so nice and cozy and welcome there. There was yarn and whisky and children and food, all things that I enjoy very much indeed. The Zombie Monkey was well-received, but now of course I need to make two more zombie critters. Ah well. They won’t be as detailed as the monkey, and will be done on MUCH bigger needles, believe me! I’d like to be able to SEE them next time I see them. On the other hand, I always wanted a dog…

I am coming along very nicely, thank you. A little awkward in my new-found, self-imposed alone-ness, but happy with it just the same. It’s not really that different, honestly. Except now I have no one to please but me. I’m firm (but fair) with me, we’re pleased with it so far. Have been to one counseling session, and according to her, I’m doing all the right things. She is the same counselor who saw me through my last crisis, so she has copious notes on the subject of Me. She is an eminently qualified Lynne-ologist. Still, she wants me to come for a few more sessions just to keep an eye out, because of my history. Fair enough, I say.

On the downside, I finally saw the doctor on the holidays. Hip and knee stiffness confirmed as arthritis (no surprise there). Other issue turns out to be a ginormous post-surgical hernia, according to the radiologist, which will likely require more surgery. Fuck. That’s what I say. Oh, well, more time for knitting, right? 🙂

Share this:

Like this:

My holidays are half over! Well, this round, anyway. I still have two more weeks this summer and a week at Christmas. Seniority doesn’t count for much where I work, we’re not unionized or anything, but they are VERY generous with the holidays.

So far, I had a birthday, went to my knitting group, did a whole lot of knitting and finished some long-dormant projects, met with a counsellor and went up to Bracebridge to see a friend’s band with Thing One. Nothin’ flashy. Thing One has come back to Peterborough and is visiting for a few days, which is lovely. This coming week there’s the annual baseball tournament (which I’m not sure I’m going to go to), a doctor’s appointment so I can find out why my stupid joints are so stiff all the time, and a multi-purpose trip to Hamilton. It’s multipurpose in that I’m a) seeing the little fellas; b) drinkin’ with mah bro; and c) attending my sister-in-law’s Stitchapalooza night, which sounds like it involves drinking, knitting and eating, which are certainly three of MY very favourite things.

It’s all a little hollow at the moment. I’m feeling a bit empty; a bit “what next”; a bit “what have I done”, but I think I’m on the right course. I’ve been neglecting the gym this week, and smoking a little bit, but I think I can get back into my routine when I get back to work next week. Holidays are for lying around and doing what you want to do, especially holidays that don’t involve plans and travelling. I think sometimes trips are more stress than they’re worth. I don’t like itineraries and travel connections, motion sickness, and strange beds. Accommodating travel companions can be stressful as well. I like “staycations”. I know the sheets are clean, I know how the coffeepot works and checkout time is never.

So, I have one more week of doing whatever the hell I want, which is fun, but it’s kind of bad for me. Once I get back to my routine, it’s gym-work-no smoking-go check out the Unitarians like you said you would. I’m so leery and shy about going to church. Friend Barb told me that when she was a kid, they would give newcomers a green cup at coffee hour so that parishioners would know to talk to them. I don’t want the green cup!